Survival
by Moviemuncher
Summary: Robert Muldoon lay in a white hospital bed, the hunter for once looking small and fragile despite his height of 6'2 and muscular build. Spoilers for films and books, technical canon divergence.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Robert Muldoon lay in a white hospital bed, the hunter for once looking small and fragile despite his height of 6'2 and muscular build.

John Hammond didn't know what to say to him, it didn't help that the man was awake and glaring at him. Tension permeated the air, heavy like the humidity. John felt nervous.

Muldoon had, fortunately, only received minor injuries for a raptor attack. His left forearm was broken (a clean break he was assured), teeth marks and gouges on his left shoulder and upper left arm. He also had two broken fingers on his left arm, he had pin prick scratches which occasionally lengthened to slashes on his face; his right thigh had a thick cloak of bandages on it, hiding a deep furrow into the muscle from the raptors retractable claw. It was the worst injury from the survivors, Hammond didn't want to think about Arnold, Gennaro or even Nedry.

Muldoon would recover fully, physically.

Hammond wasn't naive enough to believe the man who was a trusted and loyal employee would recover from the mental scars left behind. Robert was tough, physically and mentally, hardened by his work and witnessing the mauling to death of several colleagues. Hammond had seen the security tapes, he'd seen Muldoon grasp onto the construction worker with all his considerable might. The marks on his mind could even be permanent, Hammond could see it in the morphine clouded blue eyed; this was personal, too close a shave.

"Dr Sattler did it then?" Muldoon asked pointlessly, the answer was obvious. His usually clear, strong voice strangely muggy.

"What? Oh yes, dear boy, she did." Hammond startled at the unexpected question.

"I suppose you're going to tell me 'I told you so'" Hammond sighed bitterly but Muldoon merely blinked.

"Actually I was going to ask for my old job in Kenya back."

It was Hammond's turn to blink, he was surprised. Why would Muldoon still want to work with him? He nodded though, happy to comply.

Muldoon doesn't smile but he's no longer glaring and Hammond is grateful because it's distracting to be stared at as though every problem in the world is your fault.

They should put Muldoon on the charity appeal advertisements, him laying out the facts; he'd pressure you into handing over your life's savings.

Hammond stood up, out of the plastic chairs which were damn uncomfortable. He kept a strong grip on his custom, amber topped cane.

"Goodbye, dear boy. I'll visit soon, get you on the plane to Kenya as soon as possible, first class." Hammond babbled and started moving out of the room, Muldoon watched him go in silence.

Hammond hopes his next trip will be less solemn and guilt-filled.


	2. Chapter 2

Ellie Sattler visits him next, in the afternoon, a few days after Hammond.

Chapter Text

Ellie Sattler visits him next, in the afternoon, a few days after Hammond. She seemed pleased, if nervous to see him.

"Thank you" she started, "you saved my life, and because of that you saved many more."

"You're welcome." Muldoon replied taken back by the honest gratitude.

Dr Sattler set up the card she'd brought him on the small bedside table. He was due for release today after his third physio appointment so it wouldn't stay there for long. It had flowers on it and a generic 'get well soon' greeting. Despite his less than positive feeling about a piece of patterned paper he'd thanked her anyway. She had smiled with relief.

He couldn't wait to get out of hospital.

Dr Sattler was about to continue talking when a nurse came over with the phone, its coil stretched tight.

"I'm sorry, Senor Hammond wants to speak to you."

He took the phone, levering himself up the best he could with one arm without hurting his broken one.

"Hello." He said and offered Sattler a small smile and she gave him a broader one as she waited patiently.

"Hello my boy, how are you? Well, I hope. I was just calling to say I know you're released today so I paid your medical fees and paid for the full physio course. I got you the best therapist in South America. My visit has to be delayed so I booked you out a room in the cosy hotel called 'The Cabin." The first week is paid to make up for my delayed visit. As you know the rest of InGen are causing a stink. " Hammond's gentle, warm Scottish burr droned in his ear. To be honest, Robert was not surprised and completely indifferent to the lack of a second visit. He had expected it really; he knew Ingen as well as he knew Hammond. They'd keep him busy.

"That's fine. Thank you." He replied calmly . He's glad Hammond felt guilty enough to pay his fees seeing as the attack was his fault. It's not as though he himself was hurting for money, Hammond paid him well but it's the thought. He'd take it as compensation.

"I'm sorry dear chap. I will be down soon." Hammond sounded genuinely contrite. "Goodbye Robert."

"Goodbye John."

Ellie looked up as he said goodbye, smiled at him and watched him pass the phone back.

The nurse bustled off, hospitals were always busy.

"You were going to say?" He raised his brow.

"I was going to say Alan appreciates your help too, Lex asked me to wish you the best and Tim wanted to shake your hand. They're at the dig site in Montana with us, Tim loves it but I think Lex loves Alan more." Ellie picked speed and the awkwardness melted away for her. For Muldoon, he'd never felt awkward in the first place.

"That's kind of them" he said for lack of anything better to say. Especially since he didn't actually know the kids and had spoke to Grant once.

Ellie nodded.

He let her tell him trivial things about the dig, her, Grant, the kids; everything from what they'd done, what they planned, and so on. It filled the usual silence and cut away his boredom. It was strangely nice. He warmed to Ellie as she told him aimless facts he shared his own opinions and tit bits about himself. Not much, nothing revealing but a big enough contribution to make her smile and even laugh at his dry, not always pleasant, humour.

"I'm getting married" she whispered excitedly and he leant forwards, indulging her.

"To who?' He suspected Grant. After all, they'd been close.

"He's a doctor and he's wonderful Robert, honestly. He and Alan get along too which is fantastic." Ellie seemed so pleased and giddy that Muldoon hid his surprise and replaced it with a happy grin.

"Excellent news, I hope it goes well. I bet you'll look bloody lovely in one of those white dresses."

A small cough alerted then to the nurse.

"Excuse me senorita, afternoon visiting hours are over and Senor Muldoon has an appointment."

Ellie nodded, understanding, while Muldoon tutted at the reminder of his physio.

"Goodbye Robert. My plane is later this afternoon but this is my address, my home phone number and the dig site. Call or visit sometime." She insisted, handing him a piece of paper and kissing his cheek.

"I will. Goodbye Ellie." He said putting the paper in the card.

She waved as she left.

He looked at the nurse who passed him his crutch and helped him out of bed. He refused the wheelchair repeatedly. He would not accept that indignity.

Time to recover.


	3. Chapter 3

The hotel room is comfortable and conveniently on the ground floor.

Everyday he went to the hospital for two hours of physio, an hour in the morning and an hour in the afternoon. It always left him sore and in a tetchy mood so Hammond's visit couldn't have been any more ill-timed.

Muldoon let the door swing open for the older man.

He picked his drink up off the small bar in his room and downed it before pouring out another generous measure of whisky. He raised it to Hammond who declined the offer with a dismissive wave. Muldoon shrugged and sipped his own, stoking the fire that left his throat burning pleasantly. Drinking was something he'd picked up to occupy his time.

"You're looking much better than the last time I saw you." John announced jovially but Muldoon merely rolled his eyes. The cuts on his face had turned to scars since the last time he'd seen John, thin white and pink lines, if that was better then Muldoon thought John was crazy.

"S'pose" he replied anyway. Hammond seemed to not know what to say as he sat on the small brown two-seater couch. Despite his aches, Muldoon remained standing at the bar.

"I have arranged a flight to Kenya for you in six weeks when your physio is finished. Your old position has been returned to you and you can start whenever you like. A room at the staff lodge has been set aside for you."

Muldoon wasn't sure if he appreciated Hammond's constant meddling in his affairs for him but the man lay a plane ticket on the table unaware of his thoughts.

Fortunately he hadn't left important documents on the island since he'd left them in a safety deposit box at the local bank.

"I don't need that room. I never sold my place. Thank you for the offer and everything else." Muldoon made his tone brisk to disguise his sudden discomfort as his injured leg cramped. Hammond sighed.

"Robert, I truly am sorry; I know my mistakes-"

"Now? You know your mistakes now?" Muldoon growled. Hammond stood, hunching his shoulders against the challenge.

"You've realised it a bit late. Arnold is dead, Gennaro is dead, and so is Nedry but you'd call that justice if you were smart."

Muldoon breathed in heavily. He would not raise his voice.

"You're really something John, you really are."

Hammond nodded mutely and watched sadly as Muldoon drained the rest of his drink in one fiery swallow. Muldoon saw the man's light grimace and figured it was to do with the booze. Piss off, he thought, it's nothing to do with you.

"I'll see you when you get to Kenya." Hammond clutched the top of his cane tightly, knuckles whiter than ever on the old Scotsman.

"See you." Muldoon replied curtly. He couldn't care less at this point.

Hammond shuffled out, looking tired, sad and older than Muldoon remembered. Life was getting to them both.

He felt almost bad for the man with crushed dreams.

That's what booze was for anyway, washing away the unwanted. A little couldn't hurt him.

A lot could.

His head was pounding, his throat dry and his thigh aching. His arm was fine on the plus side.

He forced himself to sit up. His head spun alarmingly and he ended up bent over himself, trying not to be sick from the hangover and pain. He opened the bed side drawer and rattled around for his pills. The noise was like a shotgun blast to his sensitive ears.

Forcing himself to dry swallow was too much for his stomach.

He grabbed his crutch and forced himself up and into the small bathroom. There he dropped with a low thud to the floor as an acidic bile rose up his throat and forced its way past his lips and into the toilet bowl. Once he felt it was okay to move, he did and used the sink to pull himself up. He wiped his mouth on some tissue, chucked it into the toilet and flushed. He grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste. He had to kick his crutch out of the way when his nearly tripped over it.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror. His thinning brown hair which normally fell flat on his head was stuck up and tufty. His face was sunken and pale because he hadn't gone out except to go to the hospital.

But his eyes were the worst.

They were shadowed, heavy bags surrounding then and bloodshot.

He looked down and scrubbed his teeth vigorously. He spat and rinsed the toothbrush, he bent down to trap some water from the tap. He swilled it round his mouth before spitting.

He took another mouthful bit he swallowed it this time. He checked his watch which had dug some red grooves into his wrist. It was early, only eight am. An hour later than he usually got up.

Breakfast then, he thought sleepily.

He hobbled into the bedroom, changed from sweatpants to khaki pants and a white t-shirt. He pulled his trusted pair or brown boots on and retrieved his crutch from the bathroom floor before making his way to the small café next door.

He ordered a black coffee and dry toast because his stomach would reject sugar and he'd never understood the greasy food cure to a hangover. Not first thing anyway.

He paid and, for a change, picked one of the outside tables. It was pleasantly warm, it was too early for the intense heat mid-day would bring.

The blistering hot coffee made his taste buds recoil in horror at the intensity. It was strong stuff and he hadn't waited to take a swallow. And now he regretted it due to the burning in his mouth.

He blew on the coffee and waited a minute before taking another sip. He picked up the toast and felt his stomach rumble. He took two large bites and forced it down with coffee.

Content to sit back with his coffee and relax in the morning sun it didn't even bother him when children on the way to school probably, stopped and gawped at the scars on his face that framed his forehead from ear to ear. At least the raptor hadn't killed him, he reasoned with himself.

Soon they went on their way and he leaned back in the chair. He finished his coffee and propped himself back up into a standing position. One of the baristas came out and collected the plate and cup. He tipped her and left.

His headache was still present and he felt a little ache-y but he didn't go back to the hotel room, he went to the beach instead. It should be mostly quiet with tourist season over and a school day for local kids.

It was. Quiet that is.

In fact it was dead.

Muldoon breathed in deeply through his nose. The salt of the sea was sharp on his senses. Being inside for hours on end, day after day had made him forget the beauty of the sun's warmth on his skin. It was mild but it was the best feeling in the world for him there and then.

Three weeks and two days after his attack.

He wanted to but he couldn't sit in the sand. If sand was to slip in through the bandages and crawl to his wounded thigh then he'd have serious irritation and the risk of infection. If it went into his cast he'd suffer major itchiness too.

It would be hard to get back even with a crutch due to the softness of the sand. He'd be struggling for so long he'd miss his appointnent.

So instead he found a bench and sat. The sea was lapping gently, like a dog would someone's hand.

He liked dogs. Always had. He felt like they were the most honest animals. A dog attack was hardly spontaneous with no warnings (rabies excluded). They growled, snarled or barked. If a dog didn't like you, you'd know.

Not like a cat, cats barely gave a warning to the untrained eye. They were rarely loyal.

Dogs would protect you, cats would not.

He finds it odd that he likes dogs so much when he'd only had one. It was, technically, his fathers and it was put down when he was eleven so its not like he remembered a lot of time spent with the dog.

It had been a large bulldog mix called Buck. A large, white animal with black and brindle speckled ears and back. His father used to take him hunting with him.

Once, he remembered, someone was threatening his dad in the street because he wouldn't do as he asked and they shoved his father until Buck jumped out of the jeep and ran towards them barking. They sprinted off and his father was forced to grab the dog around his neck and grip his collar to stop Buck chasing then off.

Robert had loved and respected the dog more after that.

A bird cawed over head loudly and he was startled from his memory. When he'd turned twelve they'd moved back to Leeds, out of Nairobi. He had missed it and so returned to Africa, as soon as he could. He'd worked in Botswana, Nairobi and Kenya.

He was quite proud of his range.

Hammond had once called him a 'hot commodity' when he'd been forced to check his emails and find, with surprise, dozens upon dozens of requests for advice from zoos around the globe. It lead to a London Sunday Time's article about him that he'd hated. He didn't like publicity or having the spotlight. He was a natural leader bur that was different.

He leaned against the bench fully, even slouching into a comfortable sprawl.

At least in Kenya he could see his daughter Emma. She was fifteen and he hadn't seen her in six months. Sometimes they'd speak on the phone, write or email. Her mother, a native Kenyan but had spent a lot of time in England, studying psychology during the past three years. So Emma stayed at her grandparents though she visited England every summer to spend time with her mother.

Every month he paid in his child support to her grandparents (who told him to stop: "it really isn't necessary"). He also paid £50 into her savings account every month. He'd done that every month since she was born. By now she'd be able to pay the first year of university from his contributions alone. Plus what her other family gave her.

She was lucky, and grateful for it too.

Rarely did he think of how kind a child could be due to how cruel they could also be. It was the same with adults really. But his little girl was truly wonderful. He imagined there were times where she'd spoken rashly or harshly but she was an introvert, especially since she'd become a teen so it was unlikely. And if she had he knew she was the type to apologize if in the wrong.

He checked his watch and found that he had another hour before his appointment. Might as well remain on the beach.

The sea air had cleared his headache and he felt good for once.

He wanted a stiff drink but it was too early for the shops to be selling alcohol. Also, he couldn't be bothered to go to his room and check if he had any left there. Even if he didn't the staff would re-stock the minibar.


	4. Chapter 4

Kenya was warm, but less humid than Costa Rica. He blinked into the sun's glare.

At least he felt better at any rate and the crutch was no longer necessary. A clean bill of health, thank God.

He grabbed the flask out of his pocket and took a sip before turning the ignition and starting the drive back to the warden's station so he could check out and go home.

Home was his old place, a two bedroom bungalow. Quite spacious and empty. Empty of feeling, memory or anything relating to a personal matter. Except Emma's room but she hadn't stepped foot in it since she was twelve.

He stopped the jeep and briskly made his way into the office. He piled all his papers up and placed them in the first drawer in his desk before locking it. He checked his emails, switched off the computer and glanced at his watch.

18:43

Every park visitor would have been rushed out forty minutes ago. They were closed. However, the night watch wardens would remain here. Muldoon only did night watches on Mondays and Wednesdays.

Grateful it was a Thursday he checked out of the office.

He was going to meet Emma, she was staying with him until Saturday evening as Fridays and Saturdays were his days off.

It didn't take long to find her grandparents house and see her in the drive way with her grandfather.

He pulled up and got out of the Ford.

He walked up the driveway nervously. She had grown, her tiny body had grown into a willowy frame. Her dark hair just as wavy as it was before but shorter, and her brown eyes wider. Her mocha skin was the same, her facial features the same. It was his Emma.

He stopped a few feet from her and his attention was directed to her grandfather.

"Good, you're here. I'll pick Emma up Saturday Evening then" the old man said before turning to Emma and kissing her cheek. Emma smiled and responded in kind. Then she approached him.

He was nervous. He felt anxious.

"Hello Emma." He smiled softly. She smiled back.

"Hi Dad" Emma stepped up to him and he watched her as she brought her arms up and he raised his own to wrap around her slight but athletic figure.

She was warm, and comparatively tiny.

They pulled back from each other and made for the jeep, Emma grabbing the duffle bag from the driveway gravel. She placed the bag in the back, it was probably filled with books as well as clothes. Muldoon knew her interests would have changed since she was twelve after all. But he knew she loved to read; she mentioned a new book in every letter or phone call.

And when he'd last seen her, about eight months before, she had brought up a love of films too. Emma climbed into the passenger seat. and fastened the belt tightly around her.

"Have you got stuff for school?" He asked and she pulled a face at him, her nose screwing up.

"Yes, but really? That's what you're gonna' ask me first?"

Her English was perfect but clipped with her tone and accent.

"How are you?" He asked instead and she sighed. He accepted her rebuke, it was a fair point after all.

She smiled victoriously after processing her irritation.

"I'm well, and you?"

"Better."

She nodded as they drove down the quiet road.


End file.
